Disconnection
by DolbyDigital
Summary: The shattering of glass; maniacal laughter; the impact of a misfired spell against the castle wall; it all left him confused and disoriented. An AU after the Battle of Hogwarts.


_Flashes of red and green obscured his vision. A scream from a nearby girl – because that's what most of them were; children – momentarily distracted him from the battle. The shattering of glass; maniacal laughter; the impact of a misfired spell against the castle wall; it all left him confused and disoriented. He couldn't process everything that was happening around him; everything that was happening to him._

_Another loud scream from the same girl – maybe she was saying something? He thought perhaps it might have been a name; his name even, but that didn't make much sense – and his vision started to flicker. His side was wet, like he's slipped in mud, only he knew – or, at least, he thought he knew – that he was still standing, but opening his eyes – and when had he closed them, anyway? – revealed a clear view of the night sky, stars shining brightly and seeming unaffected by the chaos and devastation happening below._

_Another slow blink, and he thought maybe the stars were getting closer; there certainly seemed to be more of them and they were waving across his vision like they were calling out to him, showing him the way – the way to what? And why were the stars interested in him? – but he could already feel his eyelids growing heavy and his mind becoming foggier._

_He let the blackness take him; unsure if he was dying or falling asleep and not really caring either way._

Bright white light assaulted his vision, igniting the beginnings of a small headache and causing him to groan in startled surprise. He slowly began to open his right eye for a second time, pausing half way until he was used to the lights and repeating the process with his left. The ceiling looked too far away – and he felt like he should have been outside, but he wasn't entirely sure why – but as his vision slowly adjusted the thought slipped from his mind.

He wasn't sure where he was; he wanted to say the Hospital Wing, but that didn't seem quite right – and Merlin knows he'd been enough times that he should be able to tell – and he wasn't entirely sure what he could have done to require a visit to Madam Pomfrey anyway.

He turned his head slightly to the left, only then noticing the two figures sitting at his bedside – he would later account that lack of observation on the fact that his head was still fuzzy and the room felt like it was spinning slightly; but for the time being could only feel vaguely surprised like he wasn't really involved, just watching one of this muggle box things – he wasn't really sure where the analogy came from; it certainly wasn't something that he had personal experience with.

One of the figures, a stout woman with vibrant red hair that currently fell limply around her tired looking face – his mother, he realised with the same sense of disconnection – shifted enough that she caught sight of his eyes on her. The change to her face was instantaneous – her eyes lit up; her features transformed by a warm smile – but he could still detect an underlying sense of worry, like there was something wrong and he really ought to know about it. Only... Only he couldn't really feel it in him to care – and when had he thought that before? – but he wanted to, if only so that he could assuage the guilt that he pain caused; and maybe that was selfish, but he was tired and he thought he might be in pain but he couldn't really be sure without moving – and something told him he really didn't want to move right now – so he was entitled to be a little selfish.

His mother was fussing with his blankets, ever mindful of the girl – and he knew her, but he was still feeling a little sluggish and couldn't quite connect a name to her face – who was sleeping half on her chair and half on his bed, and he wasn't even sure when she had stood up, but time didn't seem to be acting as it should right now and he didn't really want to find out why.

It took a while longer to realise that she had been talking to him, her worry increasing as he continued to stare blankly at her and not answer any of her questions – he wasn't even sure that she was asking questions; she might just be recounting the last Quidditch scores, and he really hoped she was but then he would have to ask her to repeat herself because he wanted to know what they were and he still wasn't feeling up to talking just yet.

He made a vague, non-committal noise and hoped that it would be enough to appease her somewhat – he might have just agreed to something, judging by the bright smile that she gave him, but he wasn't entirely sure. She woke the girl – Hermione, his brain helpfully supplied, and he wasn't sure why he hadn't remembered earlier – before leaving the room quickly.

The girl mumbled something – or it could have been that he wasn't really listening to her – he thought might have to do with Healers, but now he really just wanted to know that latest Quidditch scores – though he couldn't remember what had him thinking about Quidditch – and go back to sleep.

"Ron?"

He tried to focus his attention on her – whatever she had to say usually turned out to be pretty useful, he thought – but he noticed that something was missing. He stared at the plain hospital-issue blanket, a slight crease to his forehead. He didn't understand what was wrong with this picture; everything was where it was supposed to be – or, it was where he thought it should be – only... Only there was something missing, and he really didn't think he was going to like this.

He lifted his left hand slowly, like moving too quickly would shatter the moment – and, if he was being honest with himself, it also helped to delay the inevitable. His fingertips drifted across his collarbone, moving as slowly as he could make them; the dawning horror on Hermione's face only helping to elevate his fears.

"Ron, don't," she whispered, the sound barely managing to reach him even though her elbows were still resting against his hip.

His hand continued its path.

He reached his shoulder, made to continue along his arm.

And...

Nothing.

His fingers reached a knot of scar tissue.

He made to sit up, struggling to do so with just one arm. And – oh, _Merlin_ – he just had one arm. This... This wasn't something that he wanted to deal with. This wasn't something that he _could _deal with. He could barely process it, and Hermione was talking but he just wanted her to leave and he couldn't meet her eyes because he dreaded the pity he would find there.

"Ron," she whispered, like anything louder would send him running – and if he was able to, it probably would. "Are you okay?"

Was he okay? What sort of question was that? Of course he bloody well wasn't okay. Nothing about this was okay, and she was looking at him like she wanted to make this better – like she wanted to _fix _him – and he knew that was never going to happen.

He must have made some sort of noise, because she was talking again; speaking louder and faster with each second that he continued to stare at where his arm should be and he had to do something just to shut her up; he had to say something...

"Look, it doesn't matter – just forget it, okay," and that was possibly the worst thing he could have said because she was definitely looking at him with pity now – and forget it? That was never going to happen – but at least she wasn't talking anymore, and maybe she would leave him alone now. "I'm fine," he whispered, not sure if she would be able to hear him.

"I'm fine," he repeated to himself, hoping that just saying it enough would make it true.


End file.
